


Winter Wonderland

by parrillawilson



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, lyra throws fake snow at marisa and just about survives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parrillawilson/pseuds/parrillawilson
Summary: In which Marisa Coulter navigates motherhood through a Christmas Eve day out in London with her newfound daughter Lyra. Of course, when visiting Winter Wonderland with her impulsive child, nothing goes quite how she expects.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the Christmas fic I promised! It is slightly AU; set in a more modern world, similar to our own (no daemons), where Mrs. Coulter has reclaimed custody of her child just as in canon and takes her on a Christmas Eve day out to Winter Wonderland in London.
> 
> It certainly is a lot fluffier than the angst fest that was my previous fic, I tried really hard to leave my comfort zone and write something lighter and suitably Christmassy. I hope you all enjoy reading. 
> 
> Happy Holidays to you all!

Christmas; the time of year Marisa Coulter cherished most. Hosting exclusive parties that were considered the highlight of the year, she was the centre of attention and received extravagant gifts. There was little competition, until a baby girl was born in late October, damaging her carefully fabricated life. Flame-coloured leaves were beginning to fall and a chill settled in the air, seeping into a woman’s heart as she gazed upon a face resembling her secret lover. The chill spread like a crack through ice, cutting through her perfect life. Dead husband, abandoned child, estranged lover. Shame, so much shame. Twelve Christmases passed, weighed down by devastation as Mrs Coulter began to regain her power, her reputation. Parties were once again deemed the greatest in all of London and yet to one woman, the expensive gifts and adoring compliments felt empty; too much was missing.

Lyra.

_Sweet Lyra_ , she thought one frosty afternoon from the edge of her terrace, sheer drop below her, _I could not bear another Christmas without you_.

* * *

“Lyra, dear. Your hat.” Having stepped gracefully from the chauffeur-driven car, Marisa turned to the young girl who hopped out beside her and pointed to her white shoulder bag. “Put it on, or you’ll catch your death of cold.” She began ushering the child towards the private entrance she had organised for them; a perk of having high social status, for queuing in the bitter cold sounded less than appealing.

Lyra rummaged half-heartedly within the bag. “Oh. I think I forgot it. Sorry, Mrs Coulter. I really en’t cold though, I— _wow!_ Is this really Winter Wonderland? It looks bigger than any fair we have in Oxford.” She was already a few steps ahead, slipping out of the woman’s grasp.

“Yes, Lyra, and this is just the entrance.” Marisa held out a gloved hand as she neared the younger brunette, her expectant gaze firm, though a smile played at her lips. “You really will have to learn to listen to, _not just_ _hear_ , my instructions,” she chastised, gently, as the girl obediently took her hand, seemingly unfazed but displaying no signs of protest. Marisa would have her daughter well trained soon enough. “Now,” she continued, as they approached the Christmas Market within the park, the quaint stalls set up in decorated wooden huts, “We must find you a warm hat. This way.” Tugging the hand that was beginning to pull her in an entirely different direction, Marisa led Lyra away from a stand selling and displaying fake snow and towards a hat stall. “Which one do you like, hmm? How about this one?” Ignoring how restless the twelve-year-old seemed, her head flapping this way and that as she took in her surroundings, the new mother pulled the furry hat, which was so alike her own, onto the girl’s head. “There. Perfect.” Guiding the girl to a square mirror that hung on the wooden wall, Marisa smiled; a true smile that brightened her features and filled her heart with warmth. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I guess. It’s kind of like yours.” The growing smile on her child’s lips only fuelled her fascination and joy at having the girl within her grasp _finally_ , after so many years. A perfect, darling child she could mould into an extraordinary young woman. Together, they would be an unstoppable force. Marisa was certain of it.

Turning away from the girl for a few moments, long enough to pay the saleswoman for the hat with a generous tip, for she was in a particularly agreeable mood, she found Lyra had vanished from sight. “Lyra?” Her stomach churned uncomfortably, heart thudding against the hand she pressed there, frantically searching for the daughter she had only just found, who she had not yet admitted her relation to. Was it normal, she wondered, to feel such sickening terror when you lost sight of your child? “Lyra!” She was drawing attention to herself, felt eyes piercing the exposed skin of her face which burned with barely controlled fury at Lyra for worrying her so. Opening her lips wide to shout again, the name died the moment she felt a strange, flaky substance hit her, catching in her meticulously styled hair. A gasp was sucked viciously down her tightened throat, a string of giggles from behind her prompting the woman to whirl around.

“Got you!” How could Lyra, the child she birthed, carry out such a barbaric, childish prank?

“LYRA.” The roar ordered silence. Those around the two paused their conversations to stop, stare and gawk at the scene before them. Marisa Coulter, always so composed and glamourous, covered head to toe in fake snow, a miniature version of herself frozen in both fear and amazement before her.

“It’s just fake snow. You was supposed to laugh.” At least the child had the sense to appear remotely remorseful; her brown eyes wide, all traces of laughter wiped away.

Unable to trust herself to respond whilst bubbling with untamed anger and _humiliation_ , Mrs Coulter took a few moments to brush the snow from her hair, face, coat, skirt, allowing Lyra to stew until every last spot of the disgusting substance was expelled from her body. Only then did she bend down to the girl’s height, looking her square in the eye with cool blue orbs. “Do I look like I am laughing?”

“No.” Blunt, as ever.

“That’s right. Now, Lyra. I understand you meant no harm, but I will not accept these little pranks of yours, not from my da—assistant.” She corrected herself, a near-seamless recovery. The child did not appear to notice. “My perfect, darling little assistant.” She caressed her cheek, those big brown eyes calming her soul.

“Okay. I won’t do it again,” Lyra promised.

“Good.” Marisa straightened out, gaze remaining trained on the child. “Now, what would you like to do?” Taking the girl’s hand, she began briskly walking away from the fallen snow. “Ah, Paddington on ice?” She suggested, gesturing at the over-sized poster advertising the ice skating show. Although the woman doubted it would be to her tastes, she supposed it would keep her daughter quiet for a while.

“Can’t we go ice skating instead?”

“Oh, Lyra, are you sure you wouldn’t like to _watch_ the ice skating? The clothed bear appeals to children of your age, does he not?”

“Yeah, I s'pose, but I like to be doing things, y’see. Skating sounds fun and it's Christmas Eve!” How could she resist that charming grin, those pleading eyes?

“Alright then. We will ice skate.” She held up her free hand, preventing the child from leaping about in anticipation. “ _Only_ if you hold my hand or the railing the entire time. I do not wish to be carrying you home, you are far too big for that.” A light smile twitched at her lips as she began to lead her excitable daughter towards the ice skating rink.

Marisa had to admit it was a truly beautiful rink with a delightful Christmas tree in the middle, rivalled only by her own, which were simply unbeatable. It had been a long while since she had stepped onto ice. Many years with the Arctic Institute meant she had frequently found herself in the far North, but rarely was there time for such pleasures. She found that it was much like riding a bike, or so the saying went, for Marisa would never climb onto one of those metal death traps. Lyra, who insisted she had not skated before, much to Marisa’s initial concern, seemed to be a natural. “Oh, you would make a fine addition to the Arctic Institute one day, my dear.” Pride dripped from her sweet tone.

“Really? You think I could be an explorer, like my uncle? Like you?”

Disguising a frown at the mention of _that_ man, Marisa touched the fur of her hat, as though smoothing it, before responding, “Most definitely. I believe you could be wonderful! So long as you listen to my guidance, of course.” Her praise seemed to give the girl a burst of courage and determination, for she tugged her hand free from Marisa’s own and zoomed off across the ice.

Heart in her throat, the older brunette raced after her, with much more elegance. “Lyra, what did I ask of you?” The girl couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hear her. “Lyra!” The little brunette's head twisted and her face came into view, Lyra’s expression one of amusement, then shock. With a yelp, she flew into the railing, tumbling hard down onto her back. “No.” Marisa’s breath left her in one word and her remaining strength forced her legs to send her gliding towards the girl, crouching low to sweep her up and into her arms, steadying her as she found her balance. Expecting tears, as she would from any _normal_ child, she was startled to see a grin form across the girl’s lips followed by laughter. “You gave me such a fright!” Marisa exclaimed. Lyra's laughter grew as she caught herself on the railing, though the traumatised mother refused to loosen her grip.

“I’m fine, Mrs Coulter! I fell…but did you see me skate? I was going so fast, I felt like I was flying and then…” Marisa heard little else of the girl’s ramblings, one hand firmly grasping her daughter’s shoulder as the other steadied her own lightly trembling form against the edge of the rink. Her child would surely be the death of her. 

After the heart-stopping experience, Marisa was glad to hear Lyra was hungry and that she would have a slight respite from her wild child’s antics as they ate. The exhausted woman allowed her daughter to choose a food stall and they soon sat down, nestled together by an open log fire with two portions of halloumi fries and hot chocolate; Mrs Coulter’s with much needed Baileys added in. “Oh, Lyra you have salsa all around your mouth.” Pulling a clean tissue from the pocket of her furs, she dabbed at the girl’s mouth, who quickly took the tissue from her and wiped the remaining sauce away. “How do you fancy a ride on the back of a reindeer, hmm?”

“Really? A _real_ reindeer?” Lyra asked, through a mouthful of halloumi.

“Don’t talk with your mouth open, it’s not polite. No, not quite real. It’s a ride, for children, I’ll watch you.”

After they had finished eating, Marisa led Lyra to the ride she had chosen for its safety and minimal chances of any mischief or accidents occurring.

“This ride is for _little_ kids.”

“No, plenty of girls your age would enjoy this ride. I’m certain.”

“You see, what I really want, Mrs. Coulter, is to go on _that_ ride!” Following the girl’s arm with her gaze, Marisa was horrified that the ride in question was a rollercoaster, and there were piercing screams of joy, or fear, drifting from that very direction.

“No, Lyra. You are absolutely not riding on the,” she squinted in distaste, “Ice Mountain.”

“Why not?” So defiant.

  
  
“Because I said 'no'. That is reason enough. Besides, you are too young to be riding rollercoasters alone.”

“I’ve _twelve-years-old_ now, Mrs. Coulter…and I won’t be alone. Not if you ride it with me.” There was that pleading, too-sweet smile Marisa hated and adored all at once.

“I do not ride rollercoasters.” An attempt to drag the girl away from the ‘Arctic Zone’ of the park was met by a stubborn resistance, younger brunette digging her heels in, expression so alike her own at her age. “Lyra,” she exhaled, exasperated.

“Please? I won’t ask to go on any other rides. You were an adventurer once, the very _best_ , right? It’ll be fun!”

“No.”

Ten minutes later, Marisa sat, gloved hands clutching both the bar over her knees and her daughter’s arm as their circular carriage jolted forwards and into a darkened, arctic illuminated world.

“Look, Mrs. Coulter, a bear!”

A little hum of acknowledgment was all the woman could force to surface, regrets stirring that she had ever thought Winter Wonderland a suitable place to take such a rambunctious child. Years had passed since the composed woman had dreamed of setting foot on such a contraption and she promised herself years more would pass before she ever would again. Despite her inward grumbling, unamused at her daughter’s effect on her weakening heart, a light breath of something near to enjoyment slipped through her tightly pursed lips, Lyra’s uncontrollable laughter thawing any remaining resentment as they hurtled along the winding track.

“Well, that was quite enough for one day.” Mrs. Coulter’s impenetrable mask returned as she brushed invisible crinkles from her blood-red skirt once they had exited the ride. “Shall we head home? Get you into a nice warm bath?” A genuine smile graced her face, burning through her icy exterior, though it seemed her child was not listening. _No surprise there_.

“Oh, look, Mrs. Coulter! I could win a bear…just like the ones in the North! All I gotta do is throw the ball at those pots and knock ‘em over. Can I?” Those big brown eyes once again warmed her heart and she found herself agreeing, paying the woman manning the stall.

“Just one turn, then we go home. It’s getting late and I would rather you had adequate rest. We have some busy days ahead.” Instinctively resting a hand against Lyra’s back, she watched as her child threw the balls, hitting all but one pot over. “Ah. Never min—” To her astonishment, the young girl leant over the side of the stall when only she was looking and grabbed an extra ball before trying once more, hitting down the final pot with a triumphant yell and a fist pump.

“Lyra,” Marisa hissed, lowering her lips to the girl’s ear, sparing a tight smile at the woman who handed her daughter a hideously oversized polar bear.

“What? She gave me them balls to throw, didn’t say I couldn’t pick ‘em up again.” _Oh_ , was this was pride felt like?

“Let’s go home.”

The sky had darkened, bright Christmas lights twinkling in all colours as they weaved their way to the exit. Lyra talked a mile a minute and Marisa found herself both fascinated and overwhelmed by the girl. “Today was amazing, can we go again? What are we gonna do the rest of the week, are we gonna go to the Arctic Institute again? Are we- ”

“Lyra, be carefu-” Too late. With her eyes sparkling up at Mrs. Coulter, giant bear clutched tightly against her chest, the girl hadn’t seen the large puddle ahead of her and fell right in the middle of it. Gasping with anxiety and astonishment that even when leaving the park her child could find trouble, Marisa helped her daughter up and half-carried her to a dryer area where a street light illuminated their faces. Marisa again expected tears; was ready to console and take care of her daughter, but the girl only giggled, unfazed. “Twice in one day, really Lyra? You must be more careful.” Although Lyra was unharmed, the mother comforted her with tender touches anyway, because she wanted to; had wanted to for the many years she was absent from her life.

That night, once bathed and ready for bed, Lyra curled up next to Marisa in the elaborately decorated living room. The lights wrapped around her prized tree glittered and shone as a crackling fire warmed them through the frosty evening, filling the room with an amber glow. “Oh, Lyra,” she whispered, lips grazing her sleeping child’s temple, “You have no idea how much today meant to me, how happy I am to have you back in my arms where you belong.” Motherhood, she had come to realise, was more complicated than she ever anticipated, but Marisa had never stepped down from a challenge. Lyra, she decided, was worth it. For the first time in twelve years, Marisa no longer felt empty, bitter or ashamed. She had in her arms what she wanted most, wanted with everything she had. The best Christmas gift she could ask for; her child.

The clock struck midnight. A gentle kiss was pressed against Lyra’s forehead. “Merry Christmas, my darling. I love you with all of my heart.”


End file.
